A Bright and Sunny Day

[FranktheFrank]

“ . . . I think the world will come
to an end amid the general applause
from all the wits who believe
that it is a joke.”
Søren Kierkegaard

It rotates somnolently in its four hour cycle,
a mile long, black and dusty, weighing in
at seventy thousand million tons,
it leaves a trail of ice particles
before accelerating to forty thousand
miles an hour.

It enters Earth's atmosphere,
a hundred thousand pieces break off
in a series of sonic booms heard
throughout the world. The major part hit Boston
and traveld through to New York
thousands of millions of tons of dirt
and water spread out miles up to meet the jet stream.
The skies rain flaming rocks.
Mankind returns to ages dark.

He was asleep when it struck,
locked in behind an underground vaults.
He'd stumbled out on the third day
of a bender, he'd heard the strikes,
the rock showers that roared.
He smelled the earth burning
and it was vile.

He climbed to the tenth floor
skirting cadavers, Judy from accounts
lay as he had always dreamed of,
but not like this - slit from cunt
to sternum. Her maroon lipstick
blending with the dried blood of her bowels.

The July sun a faint orange ball.
Groups wandered around below
scavenging burst open stores.

Corpses straddled every street. Godlike
he watched the sighted violate the weak,
corral them as booty.
Bands of feral dogs roamed,
the cries of the dying unheeded.

Fiery debris permeated the grey fog
a petrol station went up in a flash,
distant explosions from incoming
adding to the heat of forest fires,
a train lay across a platform,
the dead roasting like Viking burials.

A vien throbbed in his temples,
his throat burned, his stomach clutched
at emptiness. He wanted a drink,
he smelled his own vomit.

He'd never believed in a Creator before,
now he knew. Was he the one.
Who would save the children,
the blind innocents.

He unlocked the armoury, took
out an AK-47 and two dozen clips
in a bag across his shoulders
strode out into the haze shooting
like Arnold would have done.




*****

[BobBradshaw]

This is very cinematic...I like it. For the last stanza don't tell us....let us learn his conclusion through imagery--crosses, candles, whatever reflecting his angst. Maybe an El Greco atmosphere?

[FranktheFrank]

Thanks Bob,
Good point,
but a tall order for me, I will try.

[Bernie01]

Frank---

hey buddy, you trying to give an ole man a heart attack?

nice job and i agree with Bob.


small stuff----just one ball and cadaver per poem.

great action/visuals here:

He climbed to the tenth floor balcony stumbling
over bodies, Judy from accounts slit from crotch
to eyeballs, the July sun a faint ball through
the grey haze. Groups wandered around below
scavenging burst open stores.




Godlike
he watched werewolves and ax murderers
the sighted violate the weak,
corral them as booty and stow
away. Bands of feral dogs roamed,
dragging bowels from the dead.


wow...those feral dogs....


Would detail briefly ...those tongues of fire, the inferno that stared maniacally out at those soon to be consumed and utterly destroyed,

An orange ball permeated the grey fog
striking a petrol station that went up in a flash,
distant explosions continued as incoming
balls struck gas tanks adding to the heat/holocaust


of forest fires,

a train lay stranded across an iron trestle like a fallen horse...


A vein throbbed painfully, his throat burned,
his stomach clutched at emptiness and turned
over. He wanted a drink, he smelled his own vomit
he'd shit himself in the night. He repulsed the urge
for a drink, it faded away.

He'd never believed in a Creator now he knew.
Was he the one chosen. Who else could save
the children, those blind innocents.




He unlocked the vault, took out

his 2017 lazer rifle
slender as a girl at the beach
and fired until the noise
drove him into a shuttering
and perfect orgasm.




whew....i need an adult with me as i read this pom....



great job.


bernie



i just saw Dunkirk....as the British vacated their last ground in France, the English Cabinet talked about surrender. Churchill said there would be no surrender, and that as long as he was in office, he would not parley with the Nazis.

"If this long island story of ours is to end at last," he vowed, "let it end only when each one of us lies choking in his own blood on the ground."

[FranktheFrank]

Ah Bernie, you live and breathe poetry, every trembling breath
of you, it's life and death to you, on your dying bed you will
whisper and the nurse will put her ear to your mouth and you
will utter the greatest line the world has ever known.

I know these things.

Your back in form, thet shattered leg has healed and life
has meaning again, you are at your best in critique
polishing other poets's gemstones.

You and Bob have given me something to ponder, great lines,
instruction and a part of you has been shared, what more
could we wish for from a forum.

I have work to do, polishing on instuctions from the masters.

Your aside on Churchill and Dunkirk. I've read several books
over the years, trouble is I forget the titles now, but I read
one a year or two ago. One regiment fought for ten days
holding up the Germans, they were burned, starving, wounded,
surrounded. When they could not fight anymore they moved
to a new building waited and rested then retook their old building
with the bayonet. They did this for ten days until told to retreat.
A third of them were left, all the rest dead or wounded or taken prisoner.
Two thousand men holding up one part of the Dunkirk perimiter.

We held out for for twenty seven months before our allies came in to help us,
thank God for America, they didn't have to help us, but they did.

I remember after the war we had very lttle food, we were rationed
for years after the war. I remember my brother gutting a chicken,
none of us would do it, our first chicken for years. The nieghbour
kept them for eggs he gave us one because his daughter was keen on
my brother. I remember him stabbing at the dead thing, ripping open the
bird tearing our the guts and things, ravenous, desperste, hunger
driving him on.

Now to work and polish.

Thank you so much.

[Bernie01]

Frank---

yes, you got me between the eyes with that shot. i luv poms, it has nothing to do with being any good at the poetry game, but it's where i belong.

bless your comment.


bernie

[BobBradshaw]

This is better

[FranktheFrank]

Thanks Bob
trouble is its so long,
I guess some stories can't be short.